


about to burn down

by ceruleanVulpine



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket, All the Wrong Questions - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Gen, dramatic irony and fire!, in which even people you really love were probably occasionally shitty as teens, the tiniest and weirdest of fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 13:25:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10877697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceruleanVulpine/pseuds/ceruleanVulpine
Summary: “You’re the second most trustworthy person I know,” I said. I was smiling as I said it. It wasn’t an answer, not really, but I didn’t think she really meant the question. Did we trust each other? At almost fifteen, we’d proven it enough times for me to take it for granted.“Thanks,” Beatrice said, rolling her eyes.---Post-ATWQ, pre-ASOUE; Lemony, Beatrice, and things you definitely shouldn't try at home.





	about to burn down

“Lemony, you trust me, right?”

I looked up from my book. “You’re the second most trustworthy person I know,” I said. I was smiling as I said it. It wasn’t an answer, not really, but I didn’t think she really meant the question. Did we trust each other? At almost fifteen, we’d proven it enough times for me to take it for granted.

“Thanks,” Beatrice said, rolling her eyes. But she was smiling too. She stood and crossed the distance between us. I tucked a scrap of paper into my book, to mark my place, and set it aside. The book was about identifying arson. Years ago, some brave volunteer had purchased a series of abandoned buildings in the country and documented the process of burning them down. It was important work, but I didn’t like to read about it. “Give me your hand. While you were away, I learned this fascinating trick where — here, let me show you.” 

I raised my eyebrows. “That’s not a very trustworthy thing to say,” I said. But I handed it over anyway. She leaned against the side of my desk and started to roll up my shirtsleeve. She folded the cloth over on itself three times, then wrapped the fingers of her left hand around the bared skin of my forearm. I wanted to pull back, but didn’t. 

Beatrice pulled a square white object out of her pocket and tore it open with her right hand and her teeth. Out of it came something like a tissue, which she swept over the palm of my hand. It was wet and shockingly cold. The smell hurt my nose, and confusion hurt my head. It was rubbing alcohol. For a second I thought she was going to give me a shot. Instead she did something even more confusing, which was to produce a match with a flourish, as if she were a mediocre stage magician who still had trouble conjuring anything larger.

She struck the match on the desk and, to my horror, set it to my palm.

It caught and sprang up brilliantly, shockingly blue. I tried to jerk away. I must have made some sort of noise. But Beatrice said "Wait, don't—" and pinned my wrist in place even as the rest of me did its best to back away. I felt my heart beat under her fingers once, twice, three times, noticing distantly that she shook the match to extinguish it, and then she clasped my hand in hers and the fire went out. It hadn't hurt.

"See?" she said. "You’re perfectly alright. It's less frightening when you understand it."

**Author's Note:**

> (2 seconds later)  
> lemony: (hyperventilating)  
> beatrice: SORRY I HONESTLY THOUGHT YOU WOULD ASK MORE QUESTIONS


End file.
